Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Agents of Fate
by Shamekeeper12
Summary: A devastating ambush leaves an expedition in dire straits. The survivors—already rivalrous—are divided over whether to continue their mission or turn back. With the enemy preparing their annihilation, a reluctant explorer must take charge and unite them for the desperate battle ahead. A PMD tale.


_Rise, you that slumber  
__Stir, and wake your brothers also  
__For your mind is empty  
And by it your heart is silenced_

* * *

The furret didn't realize it at first, but every step came sooner than the last. Quicker and quicker, until he was simply running. He had dreamt of this tree before.

He ran like a swinub on fire, squinting as the winter wind bit at his face and numbed his paws. As the tree grew, however, he began to realize this was a different dream.

He was getting closer.

And when he had reached the willow tree—with its weeping branches frozen in a waterfall of ice, dusted with the whitest snow he had ever seen—he stopped, not knowing what to do next. He had never gotten this far.

As he caught his breath, he tentatively put out his paw, like a sprouting seed. Reaching out, he _touched_ it—and gasped a little.

This cold bark was real. This was not a dream.

He blinked. It was morning in Variant Suns. The blue pre-dawn light bathed all things, and the wind rested—waiting for the sun. His own heart was the only sound.

Having touched, he let his paw fall away. On the other side, he noticed another furret; and suddenly he remembered why he was here.

He sat down beside her, his satchel's contents rattling as he let it fall off his neck. "Sorry I'm late," he said.

She turned, and though she could not meet his eyes, she smiled (and that was enough for him). "I know," she replied. "You were running."

These are the days that are darker than nights. The days that started when the dungeons began to spread. Like a pox on the face of the earth, roads were destroyed, and farmland corrupted. Isolation and famine brought with it gangs of marauders, and all three brought letters to the door of the Exploration Team Federation—all begging for deliverance.

All the Federation's guilds and all the guilds' teams couldn't save even half of them, so those with great reward were saved first.

Abandoned, many killed, stole, starved, and died. Cycles of vengeance ruled the hearts of all, and day by day, the dungeons spread evermore.

Surely, said the prophets, the days were coming for the wrath of a generation to be fulfilled.

And as he stared into the town below, seeing mobs instead of police, he knew these days had come. Some part of him wished she would stay blind forever, lest she see her shadowed world grow darker still.

"Porter?"

He blinked. The sun was rising now.

"What are you thinking?"

He sighed. The day for his secret had come as well. "Ainsley…I'll be gone for a few weeks."

The pause in her breathing killed him. "You said you would quit."

"I know…" He hung his head. He had no excuse.

She leaned on him with a heavy sigh. "You know, I still remember those days. Waiting for you to come home from whatever…adventure your team was on. You brought home all these stories you would share over dinner. You _know_ I treasured those moments. You had _dignity_ then. You had _respect_. And I was happy. But what happened?"

Feeling a tear soak his fur, he reached around her back and brought her closer. Her tone was bitter now.

"I evolved, and lost my sight. The Coalition came, and poisoned our neighbors' minds with their…their slogans. Now you're a villain. Where is your honor, Porter? I've been thinking a lot about all this…and I think I've finally learned what I'm supposed to. Above is cruel, and it's only a matter of time before your dreams die, and nightmares replace them."

She grabbed his shoulders, and turned him to face her. "Porter. You didn't lose your badge. They _took_ it. Above took it. And the best we can do is to make do with what we've got left. If not my sight, if not your badge, each other.

He swallowed, feeling the lump in his throat.

"Am I wrong?"

"No… You're right."

They were quiet for a moment.

"Where are you going?"

"They say the guild at Shiver Village is in danger. With all the preparations and things to do…it's very difficult for someone to leave now."

Just then, a bell rang in the town below, marking the first hour of the day.

"Go," she said. "You're late."

After exchanging "I love you", he picked up his satchel and started back the way he came. Before he got too far, though, he heard her voice again.

He turned.

She paused a moment, touching her paws together restlessly. "…Above be with you, Porter… I love you."

"I love you too," he said.

He blinked, wondering if he would ever see this tree again. He turned back and made his way to Cobalt Guild.

* * *

He tried not to make eye contact with anyone as he passed through town. Exploration Team Federation badges were easy to hide. Guild-issued satchels and scarves, however, were impossible to conceal. His Keen Eye kept him wary along the journey as disillusioned townsfolk stared him down. His ears twitched at the distant cries of the rabble-rousers.

Their words were too far off to be intelligible. But he had heard them up close before, and by the rhythm of the words, he could piece together what they were saying from memory.

"_Cast off your chains!"_ they were saying. "_Cast off the Federation! The only thing they'll save is their money!"_

He let the words echo in his thoughts more than he should have. She was right: once a hero, now an enemy. Above is cruel, and terrible things happen to good people.

He let his mind wander more than he should have.

Try as he might, he couldn't save their last conversation from the bitterness of loss, and he felt rotten for it. Whatever light he makes, the darkness swiftly snuffs it out. Cut a tree, and it falls on you. Build a house, and a storm casts it down. Kindle a fire, and the rain will extinguish it—no ember will be spared.

He blinked. Before he knew it, the guild fence lay stretched out before him, a black row of steel pickets anchored a few yards from the stone face of Cobalt Guild itself. A flagpole bearing its bright blue banner marked the place where the Federation broke ground building it.

The fence was lined with a few dozen angry and shouting pokemon. A group of three pawniard policemen guarded the only gate, barely able to keep back the crowd. This was the fourth day of demonstrations.

Feeling the cobblestone beneath the snow, he reminded himself that Digging under was not an option. He had no choice, but to navigate through the crowd.

He drew in a deep breath and steeled himself. Walking through an area full of hostile pokemon wasn't new to him. Explorers did that for a living. The only difference was also his only concern:

They are not dungeon crawlers.

He huffed. Now, or never. Paw in front of paw, one pace became two, became three. Past the raticate bundled in a blanket. He kept walking at a steady beat. Past the simipour with the sign. She was too engrossed in shouting to notice him. Wide strides. Stone cold face. Past the stoutland with ice in his fur. Ignore his Leer. Deterrence through confidence is what would save him. By some miracle, he didn't shiver in the hour of his peril.

He made it.

The pawniard stopped him at the gate. He showed them his badge. They shooed him in.

"You're late, Porter!" one of them remarked.

He stumbled past the entrance. Finally safe, he breathed a sigh of relief. It was too early for that.

He yelped as a tomato exploded on the side of his head. Choosing to ignore it, he walked on, only to catch his paw in a Grass Knot, causing him to fall. The crowd jeered and laughed him to scorn. He muttered as he tried to wipe off the mess from his face. The juice fell to the snow like blood. Many wished it was blood. Ignoring their taunts, he made his way to the entrance.

The front yard of Cobalt Guild was fairly barren—landscaped only with the same snow that blanketed all things.

Most notably, no apprentices were gathered here either. He missed roll call.

As he approached the door, though, the drone of a hundred conversations grew louder and louder. He still wasn't used to all this noise.

He put a paw on the door, almost certain he could feel the rumble of the clamoring in the wood. A building filled to the brim with noise, and when he opened it, it all came rushing out over him.

He stepped into the atrium and closed the door behind him, returning the greeting of a passing ariados. The halls have been a lot more packed these past few days. The chaos of various pokemon of all shapes and sizes milling about, carrying boxes, moving items, racing about the halls tended to disorient him. Standing on his hind legs, he could barely see over the sea of bodies.

All of them were part of the Federation's effort to reform in an age of public skepticism, modelled after the very entity that swore to destroy them, the Coalition. Unity was the first step, and they sent Cephas the Skarmory to oversee the start of such reforms in Variant Suns.

Gaining his bearings, he set out on his next order of business. He needed to find his team. If he was seen working with them, maybe he'd escape punishment for being absent at roll call.

The main hall was connected to all parts of the guild. His only challenge was finding which part to get to. He reasoned the notice boards were a good place to start—assuming Cephas hadn't given his team other responsibilities for the day.

As he hit his stride weaving through the crowds, he couldn't help but feel like he was having fun. Staying on his toes, reacting to movements, dodging people...it was a lot like fighting the dungeon crawlers. He couldn't help but smile, finding again his sense of adventure. Quick and fast, he flaunted his agility in front of fellow apprentices and strangers alike. He restrained his play, though, being careful not to draw too much attention—or forget what he was looking for.

A few Cobalt apprentices greeted him at the notice boards, but aside from them, he didn't see his team.

He dashed back into the main hall, the game still in play. The barracks would be the next best place to check.

This time, he took the southern hallway. It was less crowded and offered a straight shot to his destination.

As he zoomed through the guild, however, he couldn't help but notice a type of shouting rise consistently above the rest of the noise. And as he continued through the hall, the shouting grew louder.

His playful side more or less uninhibited now, he couldn't help but also let his curiosity get the better of him. He began following the sound.

He didn't have to travel far before recognizing Callum's voice. The Unfeazant was Cobalt Guild's official number two. And, if Porter strained, he could make out another voice in between Callum's enraged squawks. Cephas.

Intrigued, he kept walking. Eventually, he found himself at the door of the very room where the argument was taking place.

"Don't think I can't see the writing on the wall! I know you had a hand in this! You've been on my case since the day you came here!"

"How many times do I have to tell you? You have no one to blame for this demotion but yourself."

The sound of footsteps interrupted his eavesdropping. Not wanting to embarrass himself, he tore himself away from the door and continued on toward the barracks.

Cobalt Guild didn't have the space to accommodate all the new pokemon, so the training field in the back was converted into living quarters lined with three rows of tents—one for each guild—interspersed with temporary camps for the rescue teams. Nobody thought they were warm enough for the season.

He darted out into the blistering cold. Making his way past Verdant and Scarlet Guild's tents, he quickly found the one for his team—tent number 31.

No one.

Somewhat discouraged, he turned back towards the main building, but before he could get back inside, Guildmaster Raichu flagged him down.

"Furret! You're quite a difficult 'mon to chase down. I didn't see you at roll call today."

Any sense of play evaporated, replaced by fear as his superior approached and towered over him. Porter cleared his throat, preparing his recycled excuse. "Sorry, Guildmaster. The townsfolk held me up."

Raichu nodded with an understanding hum. "That explains the smoothie on your head."

Flustered, the furret frantically ran his paws over his head once again. Only managing to get rid of a little tomato juice.

He smiled. "Follow me," he said, gesturing to the main hall. "I have something for you."

Porter followed him back into the main building. As they walked through the main hall, he couldn't help but notice the guildmaster's disdain for some of the rowdier pokemon. Many did not wear badges he could recognize.

Just then he shared a twinge of Raichu's disdain. They were rescue teams.

After some walking, they finally reached Raichu's office. Raichu kindly let him in first. Closing the door behind him, the guildmaster grumbled. "If there's one thing I hate about these reforms, it's Cephas' insistence that my guild play host to mercenaries. They have no business walking beside nobler 'mon."

Porter watched tentatively from the center of the room as Raichu ambled over to his desk, picking up a polished wooden box placed neatly thereon. With the box in hand, Raichu positioned himself in front of Porter, and with both paws, presented the box to him.

With both paws, he accepted.

The guildmaster gestured to the box. "Please," he said. "Open it."

Porter did as instructed, revealing a small pin in the shape of a silver bar, and a somewhat hastily-made book.

Raichu spoke up as the furret examined the contents.

"Cephas wanted me to choose a lieutenant who would be present during planning meetings with the other guilds and rescue teams. I think you would be a perfect fit."

"Guildmaster, I…. I'm sorry, but—I really don't think I can accept this."

"Oh?"

With Raichu's expectant gaze weighing heavy on his shoulders, Porter races to find an explanation. He debated simply telling him the truth. He would be disappointing Raichu for the second time today, but it would be the truth, the weight on his shoulders, and the deepest thoughts of his heart.

He made up his mind. This was the hour he would resign.

"...Guildmaster, I—"

The guildmaster cut him off there. "Porter," he said. "Don't humble yourself now. You and your team have blessed my guild with many years of service. Your counsel has proved invaluable in many of our endeavors. Now that we face a threat unlike any we've ever seen, I wish to have your advice close at hand."

His heart sank.

"You may not feel ready. But I'm in charge of the largest guild south of the Danzetsu river, and I'm putting a great deal of faith and responsibility on your shoulders. Believe me…"

Placing his hand on Porter's shoulder, he reassured him, "You are ready."

"…Thank you sir."

Pleased, Raichu nodded, and returned to his desk. "No, Furret. Thank _you_."

"Sir, I have a couple of questions."

"If you're looking for your team, I believe Cephas has them by the road loading up crates into the baggage train. You'll find them there."

"…One question."

"Shoot."

"I overheard Callum and Cephas arguing over a demotion. What's that about?"

Raichu's expression changed for the worse. "Oh," he groaned. "That… I don't envy Cephas' job. Those talons of his have to land on a lot of heads to keep three rival guilds from ripping out each others' throats."

He sighed. "I don't know if you've noticed, but Callum doesn't like being stepped on. He and Cephas go at it constantly, it's exhausting! I thought it best he take a back seat for this one—especially because it's so important."

He reestablished eye contact with Porter. "Any other questions, Lieutenant?"

He shook his head. "None, Guildmaster. Thank you."

* * *

The baggage train was maybe ten wagons long, all arranged neatly on the side of the main road. In preparation for tomorrow, when they would leave. More pawniard watched over them, making sure none of the townsfolk got any ideas. He saw a number of apprentices milling about, loading crates, and shouting directions and commands.

One of his teammates was working alone by the eighth cart.

"Hello, Quincy."

The quilava's face lit up. "Porterrr! Ya half-breed bastard! You missed roll call!"

He chuckled sheepishly. "Sorry about that… Where's…everyone else?"

Quincy's expression fell instantly. "Oh, them? How do I put this lightly?" He pursed his lips. "Hmm… _They abandoned us_."

He blinked. "...They deserted?"

"Yessir!" He leaned in. Quincy was about to make a point. "And you know, we're a four-pokemon team, right?"

Porter didn't respond immediately.

"Right?!"

"Right…"

"Well, Raichu—in his infinite wisdom—gave us a four-pokemon job moving crates."

The furret shrugged. "Makes sense to me."

"Well w_ould you know!_"—he tapped Porter's shoulder—"Would you know that some of these crates are _well-suited_ to big guys like the honorable stantler, Leo, and HM slaves such as yourself!"

He frowned. "Hey, that's—"

"SO! You can _imagine_, the look of pure _shock_ and absolute _horror_ on my face when, out of the four in our team, only one—_me—_showed up!"

He looked away, somewhat sheepishly. "Sorry, Quincy."

But he wasn't finished. "You know, I considered—I _actually_ considered evolving _just for this purpose_. But then I stopped myself, I thought: 'Gee, what are my future grandkids gonna say when I tell them that I evolved _just to move crates_?'"—Quincy's arms shot up in exasperation—"They're gonna lose their minds! They're gonna say: 'You're stupid, grandpa!'. You know, I was this close—_this close_ to being on the timeline where my grandkids call me stupid! How does that make you feel?"

"After what happened in the Empty Fields? I'd say you deserve—"

"Does it make you feel guilty? You better feel guilty! Because you know—"

"Quincy." He sighed. "Do you want my help or—?"

"Yes! _Pleeease_ help me!"

* * *

_That evening…_

When he opened his eyes, he saw a clear, open sky. Blue as the deep sea. The more he stared into it, the more he felt like he was falling into it.

Stealing his eyes off the blue, he rolled off his back, and the grass caught his cheeks, soft like cotton, and cold to the touch. He shivered. He sighed.

He sat up and rubbed the dirt from his eyes. His vision cleared to reveal a grassy plain stretched out before him, flat like a table as far as the eye could see, right up until the horizon—where infinity met infinity, and the grass and sky were the same.

No longer disoriented, he chanced standing up. Once on his feet, his spine stretched as he tried to get the highest view he could manage, but it didn't matter how high his perch was. The grass and sky still looked the same.

But in the far distance, he could see a tree. A weeping willow, all alone in the endless field.

All of a sudden, the light around him seemed brighter. The landscape around him became consumed in a bright white haze of light, and the heat of it soon consumed his thoughts. He squinted in the flurry, and found himself desiring shade.

Animating his legs, he put one paw in front of the other. His shuffle turned to ambling, and his ambling into strides as he started for the willow tree.

Three hundred paces later, he realized the tree did not appear any closer. But he pressed on, soon forgetting why he was going there.

He didn't realize it at first, but every step came sooner than the last. Quicker and quicker, until he was simply running. He had dreamt of this tree before.

He ran like a swinub on fire, squinting harder to see as the light intensified. Yards turned into miles, and he ran forever, that tree never getting any closer.

Soon, forever had passed, and his legs gave out from under him. The light continued to beat down on him as he collapsed, pushing him flat against the ground. Rolling onto his back, his chest heaved with breath as the tips of his paws began to melt. The bright light growing brighter still.

He closed his eyes in resignation as the rest of his body faded away, sinking into the grass, soon to be made one with the endless field.

When he opened his eyes, he soon found himself squinting again as the moonlight seeping in through the tent's open window pierced his vision. Rolling over, his face landed on his deflated hay pillow. A cold draft caught his exposed, sweaty back. He shivered. He groaned.

He blinked before rubbing the grit out of his eyes. It was a bright winter night. All was silent.

With a quiet huff, he wrapped himself in his tail and bundled the blanket around him. Carefully, he poked his feet out into the cold air, and stepped off of his bed, trying not to let the rustle of the hay disturb the quilava snoozing on the other side of the tent. Quincy had sprawled himself out face-down in a Fire Blast pattern, hogging another one of the other two beds, and was snoring softly. _And why not?_ he thought to himself. _Those beds would be empty anyway_.

Their barracks was one of the lucky ones to be furnished with a desk—meant to help plan rescues and expeditions. In recent weeks though, Quincy had used it to indulge in his sketching hobby, covering his work with their guild-issued map to not appear to be wasting time to the guildmaster.

He shuffled over to his satchel and pulled out the book the guildmaster had given him. He hefted it in his paws. He shook his head. He wasn't ready to carry all this weight.

Pulling the blanket tighter around him, he brought the book over to the desk, and set it down over the map. The snow outside reflected just enough light for him to read. If he couldn't sleep, he would do just that.

He ran a paw over the cover, feeling the smooth board compare against the deep etchings that scratched out his name in Tree Script.

He squinted, letting his Keen Eye guide his short claws to open the cover and handle the pages. The thin shavings of treated plant root felt leathery to the touch, and were scratched top to bottom with all sorts of information. Lists of type matchups, instructions on how to navigate by the stars, basic combat strategies, items and their descriptions, advice on foraging for food, even a few drawings. He didn't bother to read too much of it.

He flipped through the first few pages of the officer's reference. The pages sometimes squeaking as they rubbed against the string binding. He took care not to be too loud.

A few pages in, a new section began. These pages were sparser than the others, and each one was dedicated to a single pokemon under his command. He started flipping through, counting each page, one by one. He came to a total of thirty six. Thirty six pokemon that answered directly to him.

His blanket couldn't keep the chills off his back. He was barely able to lead his own team of four.

He noticed the book had a few extra pages, all of them blank. Leftovers from the binding process, he assumed. For a while, he just stared at them, not sure what else to do with himself.

"Can't sleep?"

He flinched. "Geez, Quincy! You scared me."

"Boo!"

With a yawn, the quilava got up, and sat on the ground, facing him. "So. What's bothering you?"

"Oh, it's just…" he sighed. "Raichu promoted me today, and…I don't know if I'm ready for all the…responsibility."

"Oh, you got promoted? Congrats."

"Thanks…"

"So…" Quincy cleared his throat. "…_sir_…what's the deal with not being responsible enough? We've been on missions with a crazy amount riding on them before. Why the cold feet now?"

He shook his head. "It's just that I spoke with Ainsley today, and…I'm starting to think maybe…I shouldn't be a part of this whole thing anymore."

The quilava held his head at an angle of confusion. "…What?" His tone had lowered.

"I want to quit."

"What, you're gonna leave like everyone else in our team?" he asked, growing irritated. "Is the dream we had, Porter, all those years ago… is that dead to you now?"

"How many years have we been at this, Quincy?" he shot back. "Has the world gotten any better? Look outside! They hate us now. You know, the more I have to break Ainsley's heart to keep this…dream…alive, the more I think I'm doing more harm than good. The more I think this whole apprenticeship thing, the Federation…isn't worth fighting for."

Quincy sat in silence. It was too dark to discern his expression, though Porter knew he had struck a chord with the quilava, and that he was waiting for him to explain himself.

"All those years ago, when PokePals and ACT were still around? Sure, it was worth it then. We all had vision, you know? But nowadays? We're just rotting away in this tent, waiting for the next payoff. We might not want to admit it, but…the dream died a long time ago, Quincy. And the only thing we're doing is propping up its disgusting corpse—"

"Don't say that," Quincy blurted, shaking his head. "Don't you _dare_ say that."

"Or what? It's true!"

His quills ignited, causing Porter to recoil from the light. "What's true? That we're fighting for nothing? Nothing?!"

Quincy slammed his paw on the map, pointing to Shiver Village's place. "Shiver Village. Fifty pokemon. Do you remember Grandma Froslass from last Winter? I didn't bring enough food to last the mission. We were starving, Porter, but she helped us! They're good people. Just like any one of us. But the Coalition wants to burn it to the ground—why? Because its guild didn't want to pay them tribute!"

Quincy struck the table again for emphasis. "A whole town is being marked for annihilation. Show some class."

And with that, Quincy went back to bed, pulling the covers over himself. He turned his back to the furret.

Porter sighed and held his head in his paws. He closed his eyes, feeling as though the skies were falling around him. He drew in a breath, letting the cold winter air numb his raw emotions. Opening his eyes, a passing ember pulled his gaze with it—a remnant from Quincy's outburst. Fickle and frenetic, it zoomed, and swirled, and danced. Rising higher and falling lower, all the while, answering to every eddy in the air—every wind and word of fate.

As he continued to watch, the ember grew dim,  
and as quickly it infatuated him,  
it perished.

He had never felt so cold.

* * *

**Author's Note**

Hey would you look at that! After two years, I've finally gotten around to actually writing something. At 4500 words, this chapter is about twice as long as what I usually put out there. I'm not exactly sure how that happened... ^^;

Unfortunately, I won't be continuing PMD: Explorers of Identity. Turns out I've bitten of a lot more than I can chew with that one, and I feel a much less ambitious project would be better for me to work on. So far, I think this has been a good decision—I'm actually having fun writing again! God willing, I might even seen this story through to the end.

This story will be a short one. I've got about four chapters planned, all with a heavy thematic focus. It's not a style I'm super used to, but I feel it's one that I have a lot of ideas for—so I guess we'll have to see how this one goes!

Any kind of feedback is always appreciated! The best thing I can do for you guys is write good stuff, and the best way you can help me to do that is with your comments.

_Special thanks to **Maxatax1029** for beta-reading this chapter._

_Special thanks to **Talgoran** and **Shadow of Antioch**'s suggestions for this chapter—which have since been implemented._

Happy reading!


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